


The Case of the Missing Boyfriend

by yalublyutebya



Series: Guided By A Beating Heart [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Injury, M/M, POV John Watson, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalublyutebya/pseuds/yalublyutebya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie goes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Missing Boyfriend

John likes to think he knows Sherlock better than anyone - most of the time - and he knows something is wrong. To the outsider, it would appear that Sherlock was absorbed in the mess of notes and pictures pinned to the living room wall but John can tell his mind is not completely focused on the case. It’s obvious in the way he’s constantly fidgeting and the obsessiveness with which he keeps checking his phone.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock startles - a further sign of his lack of attention - and turns to him with a frown. He glances at his phone again, before looking at John.

"Charlie should have been here thirty minutes ago." 

"There's a tube strike on," John points out.

"I know. I accounted for that."

John shrugs. "Maybe he’s been held up longer than you thought."

Sherlock shakes his head, holding his phone to his mouth.

"Have you texted him?"

"Six times."

John gives a helpless snort of amusement. "Nice sane behaviour."

Sherlock swivels to face him and glares at him. "Something's wrong, I know it."

There is genuine concern in his tone and John forces himself to sober. He tries to imagine what he would do if he were in this position - not that Mary isn't more than capable of looking out for herself.

"Do you know how to get hold of his work?"

"I've already spoken to his assistant. He left work an hour and a half ago."

"Alright," John says, thinking. "Well, you know the obvious answer, don’t you?"

"No," Sherlock says eagerly. "What?"

"Have you tried your dearest brother?"

Sherlock groans. "I told him to leave Charlie alone."

"And he listened?"

Sherlock practically growls as he dials Mycroft’s number. "I'm going to make his life a living nightmare."

John snorts.

"Where is he?" Sherlock snaps into the phone a moment later. "What have you done with him?"

A short pause.

"As if I believe that."

Another pause.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asks, his voice wavering.

Sherlock hangs up after a short pause, and his expression drops, something awful flittering across his face.

"What is it?" John asks.

"He's not with Mycroft, but Mycroft’s people have just found CCTV of him getting into a black car outside his work an hour ago."

"Shit. I've done it before," John says, remembering when Irene had tricked him. "You just start to assume it’s him."

Sherlock is looking even paler by the minute. John gets up and guides him, unresisting, into a nearby chair. "You look like you’re about to pass out."

Sherlock blinks up at him, but then just like that, he’s back to himself. His eyes move past John’s shoulder to the case notes on the wall.

"Henderson."

"You think?" John asks. Sherlock's been working on a people smuggling case for two weeks, and he's convinced that supposedly-upright-businessman Max Henderson is in charge of the whole thing. He’s spent the last three days trying desperately to find proof, even going so far as to break into Henderson’s offices last night - only to be caught and kicked out by the security guards. 

"I’m getting close, and he's panicking. Kidnapping is one of his areas of expertise."

Just then, Sherlock’s text alert chimes and he almost drops his phone in the rush to read the incoming message. He opens it up, and all the blood drains from his face.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock hands over his phone wordlessly and gets to his feet, making his way over to the makeshift pinboard. John watches him with a frown, then turns his attention to the phone. He is not prepared for the picture filling the screen. It is a close-up of Charlie’s face. He is clearly unconscious, and has been gagged, and there is a nasty-looking wound at his temple. 

When John looks over at Sherlock, he sees Sherlock’s eyes skimming almost wildly over his assembled clues.

"We’ll find him, Sherlock," John says firmly.

Sherlock turns to face him, and he looks more lost than John has ever seen him. 

"We’ll find him," John repeats with a decisive nod. He’ll do anything he can to help wipe that awful look from Sherlock’s face. 

*

Greg arrives fifteen minutes after John’s call. Sherlock is pacing the floor of the living room, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, and barely looks up as Greg enters the room. Greg turns instead to John.

"What do we know?" he asks. He’s off-duty, but he didn't hesitate when John told him Charlie had been kidnapped and they needed help. 

"He got into a black car outside of his work at five o'clock."

"He just got into the car?" Greg asks with a raised eyebrow.

"We think he thought it was Mycroft."

Greg rolls his eyes and nods in understanding. "Anything else? You said something about a text?"

John turns to Sherlock. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock relinquishes his phone, with some reluctance, and goes back to staring at the wall. John opens the picture message and shows it to Greg, who grimaces. "Fuck."

"Yeah," John agrees. Greg glances over at Sherlock and sends a questioning look at John. John makes a so-so gesture. Sherlock seems to be alternating between manic bursts of activity when he thinks he's got something and brooding silence when he finds himself at a dead-end.

"No other communications from the kidnappers?"

"Nothing," John confirms.

"And do we know who they are?"

John explains Sherlock’s hunch about Henderson. "You could've told me you were looking into the slimey bastard sooner," Greg admonishes. "We've been trying to pin him down for years."

"I needed the evidence first," Sherlock says, back still to them. It seems like he’s not going to say anymore, but then he continues in a low rumble. "I can’t promise he’ll be in one piece for you when I find him."

John and Greg share a look. "Understood," Greg finally says.

John almost - almost - feels sorry for Henderson for deciding to kidnap Sherlock Holmes’ boyfriend. He has no doubt he is going to learn the error of his ways soon.

*

Around ten o'clock, the bell rings downstairs. Sherlock, who was examining his notes for the hundredth time, jumps up.

"I'll get it."

He hurries out of the room and downstairs before John can say anything. John turns back to the results of his internet search, which is proving fruitless so far. Greg is also having little luck by more official channels, as he informed John by text just fifteen minutes ago. 

Sherlock returns with a small slip of paper and a dangerous expression.

"Who was it?"

"Homeless network. They've found Henderson."

"Right, we should tell Greg."

Sherlock's eyes fix on John’s. "Not yet."

"Sherlock..."

"I'm not going to sit around and wait," Sherlock says fiercely. "Henderson knows where Charlie is and I’m going to make him tell me."

Sherlock is already pulling on his coat when John lays a restraining hand on his arm. "You won’t be any good to Charlie dead. You said Henderson’s got loads of heavies. What makes you think you have any chance of getting to him?"

Sherlock's expression morphs into something desperate. "I have to try."

They hold each other's gaze for several long seconds, then John pulls away and nods. "I'm coming with you."

"You don't have to."

"Don’t be an idiot." John straightens. "Now, do you still have my gun?"

Sherlock nods and goes to retrieve it, as John sends a quick message to Mary. When Sherlock returns, John is pulling on his coat, and they share a look before heading out.

Sherlock hails a cab with his usual ease and as they climb in, Sherlock has his phone to his ear.

"I need your help."

He can only be calling Mycroft, and John’s eyes widen with surprise. Sherlock is always reluctant to call on his older brother, no matter his powers. John listens as Sherlock gives Mycroft the same address they gave the cabbie, and then hangs up with a gruff ’thank you’.

John must still be staring because Sherlock gives him an odd look. "What?"

"Mycroft?"

"I’m not completely stupid."

"But you hate it when you have to ask for Mycroft’s help."

"This is more important," Sherlock says quietly, before turning away to look out of the window. John blinks, watching his friend with new eyes. If he still had any doubt about just how much Charlie meant to Sherlock, it’s vanished. 

*

With the help of Mycroft’s men, they take out the guards outside Henderson’s penthouse flat and head inside as Mycroft’s men set up a perimeter. The flat is eerily quiet and dark, but they see light coming from deeper inside. They creep forward, only for the lights to suddenly go on, revealing five more guards.

The guards start to circle them, and Henderson appears at the far end of the room, clapping in delight. "Well, well, well. Look who we have here."

"Stand your men down now and they won't get hurt," Sherlock says through gritted teeth.

Henderson laughs. "You really think you're in a position to give orders?" He holds up a remote, clicks a button, and a large television in the middle of the room blinks into life. The image that greets them makes John’s stomach churn: Charlie is tied to a chair, listing to one side, several more bruises staining his face. 

As they watch on, helpless, a masked man steps forward and kicks Charlie in the stomach. Charlie hunches further in on himself, coughing. "What do you want?" he croaks out.

When John glances over at Sherlock, he can see him fighting for composure as another masked man grabs Charlie by the hair and pulls his head back, pointing him in the direction of the camera. 

"Say 'hello' to your boyfriend."

Charlie’s eyes are almost swollen shut with bruises, but he looks into the camera. "Sherlock," he gets out weakly, and then the picture turns to black.

Chaos erupts a moment later and John throws himself to the floor as bullets fly, taking out the guards even as Sherlock dives across the room and tackles Henderson. Henderson’s head cracks on the floor as Sherlock straddles him and punches him in the face, once, twice. Henderson makes a feeble attempt to defend himself, but he is not a very big man, and Sherlock seems almost possessed as he grabs Henderson by his greying hair and smashes his head back into the floor. He is knocked out instantly, but Sherlock raises his fist again, apparently not finished. There is an almost manic look on his face.

John scrabbles to his feet and climbs over the pile of guards to Sherlock, grabbing him by the arms and trying to pull him off. 

"Sherlock, stop!"

Sherlock struggles, and ends up elbowing John in the ribs, but John just holds on even tighter and eventually manages to pull him to the floor with him.

"Stop," he shouts again. "Sherlock, stop. We need to get to Charlie."

All of a sudden, the fight leaves him and Sherlock sags against his chest. Henderson starts to twitch and John locks his arms around Sherlock, just to be safe.

"Do you know where he is?" John asks hopefully. He's not sure Henderson is going to be giving them any useful answers when he wakes up.

Sherlock seems to think for a minute, and then he starts fighting against John's hold. "Of course, the shipping yard. I should have guessed. He has a warehouse there - I knew I recognised it."

John releases him and Sherlock gets to his feet. "Come on, John."

He's on his phone a moment later, barking an order into it. "Get me a car outside. Now."

*

They race across town in a car that is undoubtedly one of Mycroft’s. Sherlock dismissed the driver with an angry snarl and had the car in gear and ready to go before John had barely got in. He’s now speeding his way out of town along the river, weaving in and out of traffic, and John’s praying they don't get stopped by the police. 

Twenty minutes later, they crash through the gate of an industrial estate somewhere just over the border in Essex and Sherlock slams the brakes on outside a large, seemingly abandoned warehouse. He jumps out, and John struggles to follow, one hand slipping the gun free from his waistband. Their backup is far behind this time.

Sherlock sprints over to the nearest door and before John can say anything, he’s kicked the door in. 

"There goes the element of surprise," John murmurs to himself, even as he follows Sherlock inside at a jog.

Sherlock seems to know where he's going as he weaves his way through rows of shelving.

"Have you been here before?"

"Yes. It's where they found that first container of people. Come on, through here."

Sherlock barges through another door and John follows as they emerge into another large room. Sherlock leads him to a door at the side, and pauses with his ear to the door. He gives John a meaningful look and John takes the safety off the gun and gives him a nod. 

Sherlock throws the door open and John jumps into the doorway, taking out the nearest masked man with ease as Sherlock races past him to tackle one on the right. Two more men descend on John and he loses his gun after getting a shot at one of them, but manages to take the first out with a solid punch to the jaw. He is grappling with the last when he sees Sherlock knock his own opponent out and turn his attention to Charlie. His face floods with relief, anger, despair and so much more.

The man John is fighting uses his momentary distraction to throw his head back into John’s jaw. "Fuck!" 

John manages to get his arm around the man’s neck and one leg around his chest and squeezes as hard as he can. The man struggles, but he can't get a good grip and John soon feels him go limp. John shoves him away and sits up, breathing heavily. 

When he looks over, Sherlock is on his knees in front of Charlie, his head pressed to their joined hands.

"I'm so sorry," he hears Sherlock whisper. Charlie sways unsteadily, one hand pressed to Sherlock’s hair, and John forces himself into action. He gets to his feet and crosses to them.

"Sherlock," he says softly, and Sherlock looks up with a start, his eyes a little wild. "Let me check him over."

Sherlock blinks at him, but then nods and moves to the side, one hand still on Charlie’s leg. Charlie tilts his head at Sherlock and tries for a smile that is quickly replaced with a grimace.

"I'm okay," he says weakly. 

"Alright, look at me," John says. Charlie turns his bloodied face on John, eyes slightly out of focus. John checks the head wound from earlier, and frowns. "You'll need stitches. Any dizziness, headaches?"

"A little bit." Charlie coughs.

"You've probably got concussion." John moves down and looks at Charlie’s wrists and hands but they seem mostly fine. "Any trouble breathing?"

Charlie nods. John presses his hands lightly to Charlie’s ribs through his thin shirt, and Charlie hisses as John finds a broken rib. "At least one broken rib."

"Enough," Sherlock bites out and John glances at him, before turning back to Charlie. 

"You're going to be just fine," John tells him. "We’ll get you to a hospital right away. This is all treatable."

Charlie smiles weakly. "Good job you got here so soon."

Sherlock makes a noise like distress but when John looks at him, he looks away. "Sherlock, come on, we need to get him out of here and call an ambulance."

Sherlock gets to his feet, his face a fragile mask that hides nothing, and hovers awkwardly next to Charlie. "Get your arm under his," John instructs, taking Charlie’s hands. "Think you can walk, Charlie?"

"Legs still working, I think," Charlie gets out, before coughing again.

Sherlock frowns and leans in, looping his arm carefully around Charlie’s waist. Charlie gives a sharp intake breath as they lift him to his feet, and sags heavily against Sherlock. John goes to step in, but Sherlock’s voice stops him. "I've got him." 

He locks his arm tighter around Charlie’s waist, and Charlie looks up at him with bright eyes. Charlie reaches up and presses his hand to Sherlock’s cheek and Sherlock leans into the touch, his eyes closing as his face crumples.

John turns away, but not before he sees Charlie lean in to press his lips gently to Sherlock’s. "You found me, remember that."

"Charlie," Sherlock whispers, his voice choked. 

In an attempt to give them some privacy, John walks to the doorway and pulls out his phone to call the ambulance. That done, he turns slowly back just as Sherlock looks up, his eyes shining with emotion. 

"We should get going," John says.

Sherlock nods shakily and Charlie clings to him a little tighter as Sherlock guides him out of the room. Sherlock stops when he’s level with John, eyes locking on him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

His eyes slide to Charlie, who gives him a pained smile, and then back to Sherlock. "Come on."

*

The sky is just starting to lighten with the oncoming dawn as John slips into the house, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible so as not to wake Phoebe. 

"John?" 

Mary appears in the kitchen doorway, and rushes towards him. "Thank God you're okay."

"I'm okay," he says, hugging her to him briefly.

"How's Charlie?" 

"They're keeping him in the hospital for observation for a bit, but he'll be okay."

"And Sherlock?"

John hesitates. "I think he's had a wake-up call of some sort. His face when we found Charlie..." 

Mary smiles softly. "He'll be fine. They'll have some life affirming sex and then he’ll be back to himself in no time."

"Mary," he protests. The thought of Sherlock as a sexual being is still one he’s trying to get his head around.

Mary grins, slipping her arms around his waist. "Speaking of..."

John laughs and draws her into a kiss that very quickly grows heated. She presses herself against him, warm and alluring in her thin pyjamas, and he groans. She pulls away and smiles coyly as she takes his hand and leads him towards the stairs.

From out of nowhere, a wail fills the house and they share a look, before bursting into laughter.

"Teeth still playing up?" John asks as they continue up the stairs, arousal instantly doused by the insistent cry of their daughter.

"Yeah. She took ages to go down."

They make their way into Phoebe’s room and John lifts her out of her cot into his arms as Mary digs through the drawer for the teething gel. Phoebe sniffs and snuggles against him as he presses a kiss to her hair and lets her chew on his finger, and he meets Mary’s eyes over her head. He finds himself thanking God that his family is safe. If anything happened to them... He remembers the rage in Sherlock’s expression as he slammed Henderson to the floor, and knows his own would be equal. The realisation leaves him temporarily stunned.

"John?"

"Sorry," he says, snapping back to the present. "I just..." He lets out a huff of laughter. 

"What?" Mary asks, smiling.

"I just... I never thought I’d see Sherlock so in love he'd risk his life for someone."

Mary gives him an odd look. 

"What?"

"You're an idiot," she says, taking Phoebe from him and sitting down with her in her lap.

"Wait, why am I an idiot?"

Mary rubs teething gel gently into Phoebe’s gums as she looks up at him with a slightly stern expression. "Because you think you know Sherlock, but you're convinced he's this emotionless machine when he's got more heart than any of us."

"Sherlock Holmes?" he exclaims with a short laugh. "Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?"

"Yes. John, think of all the times Sherlock has risked his life for you. And think about how he risked his life for me, and for our unborn baby. And you've seen him with Phoebe - he loves our daughter as if she was his own. Now tell me again why you're so surprised he has a heart?"

John stills, silenced, and Mary bows her head and presses a kiss to Phoebe’s hair. "Back to sleep for you, sweetheart."

Phoebe is already falling asleep again and Mary sets her down gently in her cot. They both watch her for a moment before slipping outside.

"You've gone quiet. Does that mean you realise I’m right?"

John purses his lips, turning toward her. "Before today, I might have argued some more, but now..."

Mary gives him a triumphant grin. "Thank you. Now, where were we?"

She kisses him briefly then leads him across the hallway to their bedroom. As he shuts the door behind them, John muses that maybe he doesn't know Sherlock Holmes as well as he thinks he does - at least he didn't, until today.


End file.
